


I'll Remember The Heat.

by fearless_seas



Series: Young and Beautiful. [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternative Universe - Present, Angst, Implied Smut, M/M, Music, Past Child Abuse, Thomas is scared of getting close to people, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:57:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8302741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: Thomas Jefferson will always remember the heat. The heat meant Virginia, Virginia meant home. The first night spent with Alexander was a hot summer night in mid July, their bodies colliding with one another to form a new symphony. The heat meant Alexander; Alexander meant home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme throw a bunch of angst. I particularly am enjoying this series. Yes- there is more to come after this (the second installment).

_ Hot summer nights, mid July _

_ When you and I were forever wild _

_ The crazy days, city lights _

_ The way you'd play with me like a child _

         That night. That one night. That one night was all that it took for Thomas to become undone. Striped of his mask, striped of the lost soul digging trenches in his stomach, striped of himself- to become  _ himself _ . Alexander was so very terrible at reading people, but even he’d manage to see _right through him_. He tried, oh did he struggled to hide. He had hidden himself, emerged, lost himself for so long. Alexander drilling into him, and like a treasure chest of glory- Alexander found him. 

         That one night, it was only one night. Tempered early summer bit at him like a rough and shallow. It was nothing compared to the heat of Virginia, it was a bagatelle allegory. Paling in comparison. But even at this thought, the New York sunlight still managed to fix him, sweat shining his collar bone like a chorale of pearls. Thomas will always remember the heat, the heat reminded him of home, the heat reminded him of the past, the heat reminded him- brought to character the first night. The very first night they spent together. 

         Thomas remembered how hot it was, and as their bodies rocked against one another, moving in sync like they belonged together. The shorter man pined underneath him, Thomas was able to jerk his hips just into the right spot. Perfect little puzzle pieces stuck together as destiny, fate. It wasn’t messy, it was almost artistically ensembled. Alexander was stiff, robotic almost, reminding him of the hip-hop and rap stations he’d pass while tuning the dial. Thomas was a definitive contrast- angelic, flexible, agile, swift- he’d compare himself and his movements to those of classical tones- a violin slow movements. 

          He picked up the pace as the music crescendoed, sonorous did the violin bow, resonant did the orchestra become. The climax hit it’s peak, the music licking indolently down, dreamily the chorale surrounding the main percussion dimmed before coming to a stagnant. The music never stopped. It was a high he’d never experience. With Alexander the music never disinclined, the melody never hit up it’s finale. The music never ended- a never ending story. The buzz of the violin was always there. The rattle in the cavity of his chest.

          Thomas wished he’d never cried. He wished he hadn’t made such a fool of himself- but had he? Alexander didn’t seem to mind, Alexander’s mood did not innovate, Alexander stayed. Nobody had ever stayed before. It was stranger feeling, he didn’t know how to express the gratitude. The air surrounding the room smelled of passion. The room smelled of a mixture- Thomas’s french spices mingled delicately with Alexander’s taste, Alexander’s body, Alexander’s mind, Alexander’s  _ soul _ . Thomas blinked dreamily, he was alone. No- he wasn’t. Alexander’s head lay peacefully nestled underneath Thomas’s chin. He was still here. The arm protectively wrapped around Alexander’s waist lay with an iron grip- he didn’t know if he could ever bring himself to ever let go. 

         Alexander was bold, abrasive. Thomas was divergent. Yes, they were such the same in many, many ways- a list of grievances miles long- Thomas didn’t have enough air to breath with confabulations. Alexander was hasty with decisions, he cared what other thought of him in a way that made it seem as if he didn’t care what others thought of him. Thomas knew Alexander did care, he did care. Thomas’s first impression of the shorter man was healthy, a quick smile and handshake across the work space. Why did the turn point seem to stab into the earth too deeply? Thomas’s feeling attached himself to a man that he barely knew- and it hit him like a truck- square in the heart. The feelings latest, sticking to himself and although oh- so how hard he tried to rid him feelings when the relationship turned sour and Alexander’s true nature split- it wouldn’t happen. 

         _“Mr. Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton”,_ an introduction, a hand was stuck out. Thomas from the moment he spoke with the shorter man was blown away. He craved to hear what he had to say, he fancied to hear his stories, he thirsted to hear his past ,drink up his dialect, he willed to be his  _ future _ . 

         It was a hot summer night, mid July. An earlier kiss drawing breath from his lips- Thomas hadn’t mean to. But he had, he kissed Alexander, he barely even registered that he had done it- but he did. Alexander’s eyebrows knit, his hands raised in an yell. His lips felt raw, his mouth tasted of sweet sweat. Nothing that he had ever tasted, ever felt in his entire life. The kiss lasted more than a minute and when Thomas realized what he had done- he ran. He ran like the coward he was, he ran and even though he heard Alexander calling his name from across the hall- he couldn’t face him. Thomas couldn’t bring himself to face the man as he clenched his coat in his fist and strided down the hall. His body hunched over his feet, furiously wiping the tears that glided down his cheeks. He hadn’t expected to get so close to the man. It was an accident.  _ How could something to spectacular be an accident? _

         Thomas was a planner. Alexander was a do’er. Alexander was bold, he did what he scrutinized was right, when it was right. Thomas needs a second stage of consideration. Nothing felt so right in his entire life when without a moment's flash, Thomas divided in and stole Alexander’s breath, stole Alexander’s words, stole his dialect. Borrowing it. Then he let go, and he was lost. Alexander was the first to comfort him after the big mistake, Alexander was the first to comfort him. Thomas didn’t want Alexander to know about his past, he wasn’t like Alexander. Alexander held a certain pride in his past, not specifically in the past or the moments itself but the idea that a small minded individual was able to write himself out of such a dire and infallible situation. 

         The occasion he knew life wasn’t picture perfect happened when he was four. It was the first time his Father hit him. Almost nineteen years later, the same slap on his cheek was an invisible imprint on himself. The time shaped his perception, outlining his trust, shadowing his person. Thomas desperately tried to maintain the composure that he was his own person- nobody defined him. That was not true, everyone who had hurt him in the past exemplified him. Mention of key components. 

         He answered the door partially naked. Alexander’s wide eyed expression wasn’t hard to read- he was particularly open about his emotions it seems. Thomas hadn’t been expecting him. The heat was suffocating his apartment, a stressful day at work and then the kiss that ripped the casket around his heart was shredded, splintering. Confrontation, Thomas ran and Alexander was not one to give up- ever, he chased. His persistence was damn near annoying. 

         Thomas was wearing simply shorts with nothing underneath. This made himself twitch when Alexander came to the door. Alexander Hamilton hadn’t asked for an invite, his able body slipped through the door frame. 

          _“We need to talk-”_

_          Thomas was tired, “No, you mean- you’ll talk and you’ll force me to listen”. Alexander didn’t respond but the truth burned like rough liquor on the tongue.  _

_          “The kiss..." _

         The kiss. What did it mean? In this instance it meant, What did it mean for Alexander? Thomas knew plenty well what the kiss meant for him. It didn’t take long for the truth to spill past his lips. He was a still frame, he reasoned carefully before he communicated. This time, there was sought hidden and the emotions spilled out of him. He couldn’t encompass them. Alexander didn’t leave, the heat in the apartment that Thomas couldn’t stand before grew to more extreme levels. It was a comfortable inferno. 

         Their last kiss was more miraculous. The touch never quit, the heat they had infested themselves him only grew most dramatically. The bedroom was the most. The two nipping and prying at one another with their jagged teeth. Alexander’s cries when Thomas hit just the right spot- Thomas always hit just the right spot. The mess the created when they were both finished. Thomas wondered if Alexander’s ears rang with the ecstasy of the combined orgasm. Thomas’s did. The way they both created new language for each other’s words. The intrinsic way they both muttered each other’s names like a prayers, their bodies were the temples, their sanities a held. 

         When it was finalized Alexander slid off the bed on shaky footing. Thomas’s heart fell, the tear stains that were pricked into his skin were starting to quiver in fright. Why was he so damn frightened all of the time? Everyone he touches leaves, everyone he touches dies. He burrowed himself deeper, digging himself a hole of misery in his bed. A couple minutes later, the bed sank in like a ghost on the other side of him. Surprise, his body revolved, turning over. Alexander was slipping into the sheets, their clothes that were left strewn around the room were now neatly folded in a pile on the across the room. 

         He stayed. 

         Alexander read his closed lips, pressing a finger to his lips, “Don’t even think about it.”. He stole his words, ripping them from his soul and Thomas was a peace. Burrowed over, holding his side. A intelligible melodic floating of their chests, Alexander lived in the moment. Thomas’s brain melded seldom with the past and the future. He  was expectant of the terrible things in his future. Thinking things through before he acted. This moment, this time, Thomas didn’t think of what was going to happen tomorrow, Thomas didn’t think of the consequences of his actions. Thomas acted this time. Thomas did not surmise. 

         The tinier frame that was held close to his side melded into his emotions. Without a envisage, Alexander’s head nodded off and Thomas speculated him distantly, cautiously, almost delicately. He surveyed the way his cheeks twitched as he slept, his eyes screwed up with the pain inside of his head. Revealing all too much, and all too little. The hand that the Immigrant had rested on Thomas’s chest scratched stress marks in his stomach. Alexander’s stubbly jaw rubbed uncomfortably on his raw chested skin grinding his teeth together and setting his jaw in reminisce. 

         Thomas’s hand came to settle on his jaw, holding it in place. Alexander seemed almost to blend into the darkness but to Thomas, he stood out like a magnet. Attracting Thomas at all costs. Thomas felt his own eyes close with aching tired, but his own temperament struck him. What if he woke up and Alexander was gone? This caused the arm wrapped holding Alexander to him to shift and it tightened. The Virginian didn’t think that he would ever be able to let go of him. _If they were together he would never have to, would he?_

       The eerie domestic blend melded in, Thomas’s hand on the steering wheel of his car, Alexander in the passenger seat knocking off his language with many stories of his day. Alexander’s hands wrapped around a damp dish cloth, the dishes Thomas washed in his own hands. Alexander’s head peacefully laying on Thomas’s lap as the colors of the TV screen ignited on his cheeks. He knew he’d end up brushing his fingers, threading them through Alexander’s hair. Thomas, forcefully shoving down the burnt food Alexander had prepared as not to hurt his feelings. The simplistic image of fixing Alexander’s tie, having Alexander furiously tapping down a million words per minute. The visage of Thomas’s gently stringing of his violin, Alexander beaming up at him like he was the damn world itself with his large doe like eyes. 

          Most of all, Thomas wanted  _ this _ . He wished to wake up every morning to Alexander in his bed, he hankered to be able to call Alexander,  _ his _ . Through the darkness, the heat pooling underneath the comforter at both of their legs mingling together in a mantled array, Thomas pulled Alexander closer to him. He lifted his head down, the kiss he pressed against Alexander’s forehead, a protection. A reassurance, “Please, don’t leave”, the words whispered off his tongue like dry paper. The body sleeping on top of his chest didn’t move. The sky outside the window lit up with the New York city lights. The car headlight forming shapes and maps on the wall. A world map jutted through the slices curtains, the dots of pinpointed locations. Thomas was going to bring Alexander to these places one day. 

         The room smelled of mixed spices, delicate and prudent. A more bold flavor centered in the moonlight. Both moods. Thomas threaded his fingers throughout Alexander’s hair as the room brightened with contrast. Both of them glowing against the darkness. His eyelids quivered, barely standing, keeping them open, his muscles ached with exhaustion. 

_          “He won’t leave, don’t worry”.  _

         The breath that was trapped behind his lips escaped through a narrow cavern; years of deliverance cracked him. The bubble built in his chest burst and he felt a conclusion. Worry seeped out of his bones. Feebly, a hand rose from his empty side to wipe the sweat pricking his forehead, whilst brushing the stray black hairs off of his forehead. His eyes shut; safe hold. No anxious monotone. 

         Thomas Jefferson will always remember the heat. The heat meant Virginia, Virginia meant home. The first night spent with Alexander was a hot summer night in mid July, their bodies colliding with one another to form a new symphony. The heat meant Alexander; Alexander meant home. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys enjoyed you should follow me on Tumblr, @sonofhistory I'm a Historian and a writer. Kudos and Comments are highly appreciated! If you have any questions please do so! 
> 
> \- Presley.


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